


Marvels of Cybertronian Technology

by RHplus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Macro/Micro, PWP, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14377215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RHplus/pseuds/RHplus
Summary: Orion Pax, formerly Optimus Prime, has a nemeses with benefits arrangement with the reformed Megatron. Finding out that mass displacement technology can be used in ways he was previously unaware of gives him a persistent idea he just can’t let go of. He gets his wish, but so does Megatron.OP POV, brief mentions of OP/senator Shockwave and Megatron/Starscream. Features kind of an unhealthy relationship, but action is consensual and negotiated.





	Marvels of Cybertronian Technology

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to give credit to a few works that have inspired me, so have a couple links:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/4537248  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409426/chapters/10028960
> 
> This is fairly straight-up IDWverse, set around MTMTE #33, but it’s an AU in which Orion never took up primacy again after ditching it once. Just because that would have made me a lot happier.

The door to one of the out-of-the-way hab suites on Lost Light swooshed shut behind Orion with an odd air of finality. Regardless, the ex-prime kept his optics resolutely trained on his…opponent. They had been conversing in their usual civilly intoned insults, and even had some nigh-neutral exchanges of actual interest, but in the private space, both fell silent. It wasn’t the first time they had arranged a meeting like this, but it was to be a bit of an unusual one.

\--

This time, when Orion had received his usual report on Megatron’s latest activities aboard the Lost Light, he had done his best to keep calm. There had been no particular reason for that to have had posed difficulty. There… _should_ not have been.

The story of two Lost Lights and disappearing and re-appearing crew was both confusing and worrisome, but it was a certain _small_ detail that stayed with Orion. Somehow, an idea had wormed its way into his processor, and persistently bugged him even in recharge, until he found himself blurting it out to the mech himself. A private video call had turned to the subject of them meeting for a frag yet again, and the topic lured Orion into tripping up.

“How small can you go, using your mass displacement function?” He sounded severe, deep voice controlled and frown in place. On the other end of the line, however, Megatron displayed an infuriating expression of carefully moderated surprise.

“Why do you ask, Orion?” Ah, and there, a slag-eating grin creeping on his face. Orion’s engine released a short growl.

“You know why.”

“And yet, I would rather hear you say it.” And this was why Orion Pax would silently admit he was a fool. Even if he was Prime no more, fragging the ex-leader of Decepticons was questionable from various moral standpoints, without even mentioning the possible PR nightmare…but what made it downright illogical was Megatron’s sadistic personality, reformed Autobot or not. If someone were to ask, Orion could not have rightly answered why he suffered Megatron still, when he could have left just as well alone.

(“The answer is kink. I give him what he dares not tell anyone else he craves,” Megatron would have answered for him.)

A truck engine growled quietly again as Orion bristled, but he bit it out regardless. “I want to frag you when you’re small.”

Megatron’s narrowed red optics scanned him, unpleasant smirk still present. Orion knew full well he took enjoyment in this, goading his old adversary, making him admit what could be used as weaknesses: but that was also why he would give in and let Orion clang him. When he spoke up, his voice was low and pleased, making Orion’s knuckles itch. “My alt mode used to fit into one of Starscream’s servos. You may do the math from there.”

Of course, it made sense, and yet Orion had had to confirm, just as the act of doing so had offered a relatively convenient way of broaching the subject. And yet, hearing the confirmation made his ventilation fans blast out of control for a short moment. Luckily, their sound wasn’t caught by the microphones on his communication hub.

“What do you want in return?” Orion asked, frowning deeply, irked at the ex-warlord and at himself in almost equal measures.

Megatron took his time in answering, rubbing his chin in a show of mock ponderousness. “What to say. That would leave me terribly vulnerable. Quite degrading…”

“I’ll suck you off,” Orion ground out, voice dropping even lower. He hated himself for it, but the idea was so compelling that lately, mental images were taking a toll on his higher processes even during active cycles. He had to get it over and done with. And he knew what sort of things Megatron would appreciate and Orion usually wasn’t forthcoming with.

Megatron only released a noncommittal hum, quirking a lip plate slightly, and eyeballed his digits with artificial disinterest. The slagger!

“…I’ll take part in that threesome with Starscream you’re dreaming of. _If_ you somehow manage to convince Starscream, that is.”

This made red optics flash and focus back on Orion’s face. “Will you let Starscream use your intake as I take your valve?”

“…Starscream in the middle, if it comes to that.” He had his limits, and letting Megatron _use_ him like that with Starscream witnessing crossed them.

Megatron hissed a sigh, leaning back in his seat. “…Fine. Threesome with Starscream, you get to be on top. …I accept.”

Orion suppressed the ridiculous impulse to pump his fist. He might not even have to do his part in the agreement, as he seriously doubted the now-leader of free Cybertron would agree to interface with the very source of most of his traumas, his former superior. “Agreed,” he rumbled, and Megatron nodded in answer. He could hardly wait for his next visit to the Lost Light, ostensibly for the purpose of supervision.

\--

Now, finally in the Spartan chambers of his…lover was decidedly an unsuitable word, so berthmate, rather…Orion faced down Megatron. The steel-gray frame did not seem any less a warlord to his optics than any of the previous times they had met after his farce of a trial. The reports he received from the Lost Light painted a picture of a mech he could hardly recognize, subdued, even, and hardly imposing at all. Still, alone with his adversary like this, he wore a very familiar unpleasant smile and stood up to Orion, struts ramrod-straight. As usual, they were almost equally met: Megatron stood only around two digit spans taller, shoulders roughly equal in width. As usual, Orion loathed himself for wanting to bridge the distance and mash his fists, his mouth, against Megatron.

After the requisite period of hostile glaring was done with, Megatron was the first to move. Wordlessly, he spun on his heels and sauntered over to his berth. He turned to glance at his guest, smiling, smiling. Orion promised himself he would end his gloating soon enough, when the warlord finally did his part. His cooling fans ground on reluctantly, at that. “The coy buymech act still doesn’t suit you,” Orion said moodily, and was rewarded only with a condescending huff of vents.

 _“I will be comming you only, during,”_ a message pinged into Orion’s short range receiver. No doubt Megatron didn’t want to be heard in the higher pitch that a handheld mini-mech’s vocalizer would produce. Orion’s engine rolled audibly with a little thrill; so he was embarrassed, after all.

Orion refused to hurry Megatron up, and luckily the warframe got bored of stalling soon enough. Orion could have shuttered his optics and missed it, so fast was his transformation. Between raising his leg to step up to his berth and placing his weight on it, Megatron shrunk down, smaller than any minicon, so tiny he could have comfortably sat on Orion’s servo.

It was, in a word, _adorable_.

Orion’s ventilations stalled as his spark jumped in its casing and heated energon flooded his interface array. He couldn’t stop himself from stepping up to the berth and kneeling to take in the tiny form, reaching out both servos.

Mini-Megatron had turned to stare up at him as soon as he got on the berth, and seemed infuriatingly unperturbed to be loomed over by his nemesis. Orion hoped it was an act, an effort, and felt burning shame to hope. “Look at you, you’re…the size of a _human_ ,” Orion rumbled quietly, unexpected warmth in his voice. He knew he was grinning behind his battle mask.

As he might have hoped, Megatron grimaced at being compared with a behated organic species. Orion’s blue servos caged in the tiny chassis, and Megatron’s little digits came up and braced against Orion’s. He wanted so badly to squeeze…but for now, he contented himself with lifting Megatron into his lap as he settled to sit on the berth, and with poking the miniature mech.

 _“Lose the mask, Orion,”_ commed Megatron, staring up at him from his servos. Orion chuffed a soft sound of amusement, even when retracting the battle mask.

“Cheeky little thing,” he commented, and noted that Megatron’s grip tightened on his digits. An idea formed, and he lifted his little prize right up to his intake. “Do you like my voice?” he asked, letting his register drop as low as it easily would. He was rewarded with Megatron leaning away and against the unflinching digits imprisoning him, with a small squirm. Orion smiled, which seemed to annoy Megatron somewhat, and a tiny servo gripped his lower lip plate, squeezing with a pinch. Orion’s grunt rocked Megatron’s tiny chassis. He slipped his glossa out and licked up along Megatron’s servo and his face, eliciting an unbelievably cute, rather high-pitched scoff and bluster of annoyance from his vents.

Orion’s connector had been swelling ever since he picked up his miniature nemesis, and now it was crowding the space under his modesty panel, threatening to dent the relatively thin metal. Grunting, Orion shuttered his optics and licked at Megatron again, bathing him from knee to helm in one stroke. He put up cursory resistance, again, no doubt familiar with Orion to such a degree that he could deduce it would rile him up just right.

As he had said: the slagger.

Orion’s in-vents staggered, and he plunged Megatron’s upper body into his oral cavity. The small frame froze rigid in surprise or fear, and Orion’s spark danced just as his interface array pulsed yet again. Such a small system couldn’t produce much charge, but he tasted the electricity faintly on his glossa, felt it tingling against his dentae. He took care, as they had not actually agreed on him hurting Megatron this time, and simply licked and briefly sucked on tiny servos, the barrel of the back-mounted cannon, and shoulder treads, even as oral lubricant escaped his intake and slobbered down his jaw.

 _“I will tear your head off if you try to go too far,”_ came a message from Megatron, reaching for nonchalance but smacking of a measure of stiff worry. Orion’s lip plates curved in a smile of sorts, and he nudged his gaping mandibles a fraction closer to Megatron, who was braced on his lower dentae, positioned between Orion’s incisors as if stuck in a biomechanical guillotine. A minuscule knee guard knocked against his chin plating. Orion hummed, trying for a comforting purr, as much to calm down his partner as to annoy him, and a small servo pawed at his glossa, turning his hum into a chuckle that rattled Megatron.

Megatron’s movements were becoming somewhat jerky, and Orion fancied he could feel the faint EM field prickle with actual hostility, so he indulged in a short touch of his dentae against usually sturdy thoracic armor, now so delicate and fragile, before immediately releasing his victim by pulling him out by a grip of his little pedes. Megatron slipped out with a wet pop, and was immediately wiping his face plates with a servo quite as slimy as said face.

His expression was much less smug now, and Orion smiled indulgently at him. “I did promise to suck you off.” Megatron’s roll of optics was exaggerated to the point that he rolled his whole head, and Orion snickered.

 _“Enough of that, Prime.”_ Megatron had once again slipped to using the name they had both gotten used to over the millennia of war, and as usual, Orion did not correct him. It did somehow feel the most fitting during when they would get intimate like this. _“Let me down, and at your spike.”_ The brazen comm message made Orion’s engine rev aggressively, and he complied.

Orion moved his thighs together to offer mini-Megatron a foothold, and leaned back slightly to allow his interface panel to slide aside more easily. As soon as he had flippantly dropped Megatron from his servo to his lap, he retracted his spike cover, and the almost painfully constricted member sprang free. Imagining what it must look like to Megatron made Orion’s still-covered valve clench as well, and he stared down, transfixed. The teensy warlord found his footing quickly, and straightened his struts while balancing on Orion’s smooth thighs. He was looking up, not at Orion’s face, but at the colossal connector that was weeping quite a generous amount of pre-release lubricant. Orion shuddered, cooling fans climbing into a _screech_ as he felt simultaneously cold and hot. Primus, but his spike was taller than Megatron, like this.

Megatron wasted no time in approaching the daunting shaft before him, and sidled up to it as if embracing a lover. Orion jerked bodily, and moaned deep, fisting his servos desperately against the berth he was leaning back on. He wanted to make this last, but frag it all, it was too much and his systems were fervently generating excess charge. Just like his daydreams. He swore through his gnashed dentae and forced his optics back down into his lap as he felt small arms encircle his spike. Or, try to. They almost didn’t reach…

 _“Such language,”_ commed the insufferable slagger in his lap, and Orion swore again, louder.

“Oh frag, Megatron. You’re so tiny. So _adorable_. I can’t stand it…” he ground out, shuddering again, trying to hold on. At least the miniature mech couldn’t really achieve proper purchase, though he was gamely embracing the giant shaft, rutting up and down against it, and at times executing some sort of a death grip around it. It did feel quite good, but also looked ridiculous, and Orion almost burst out laughing.

“Oh, slag. Oh, Megatron. Let me… Just, let me…” Cables tightening all over, Orion was on the edge, but still unable to find release. He needed a firmer resistance. He reached a servo down, and cupped it behind his miniature Slagmaker, crushing the tiny frame against his spike. He felt a faint, high-frequency tremble against his digits, and realized it was an angry growl of Megatron’s shrunken engines. Huffing, he started carefully thrusting into his servo, rubbing against the angles of the small mech, still groaning swears and pleads to Megatron.  “I can’t…just hold on…”

 _“Put your backstruts into it, Prime. I’m not so fragile as to break from this much,”_ pinged a message into Orion’s clouded processor, and he could imagine his adversary’s deep, gravelly growl. Moaning, he tightened his grip and started rutting into his servo in earnest. His cooling fans were working at maximum setting, and he had started panting through his intake as well, trying in vain to cool down. He was so close. Tiny, angular arms and wire-breadth digits were still stubbornly grasping tight at his shaft, pedes too. Oh, it was amazing. Megatron, at his mercy. So small, so fragile. Crushable. Still grasping at his spike with what seemed like desperation.

Orion found he had offlined his optics again, and forced them on with a loud groan, spending whatever was rest of his considerable self-control into stilling his hand and hips with one almost painful squeeze around his length. He felt eggshell-like armor plates scrape against each other at that, almost giving in, and only letting go at once saved him from spilling over then and there. He let Megatron slide from his hand, and he plopped down on Orion’s thighs again, impressively messy with various lubricants.

Orion was panting in short intervals, and gripped his thighs, bending forward, over the tiny mech in his lap. Megatron had fallen backwards and was clambering up onto his pedes from the groove between Orion’s tensed legs. There was an unmistakably annoyed expression on the small face plates, but Orion couldn’t even huff to show amusement. A strong current was mercilessly coursing Orion’s systems, lighting among gaps in joints and snapping at Megatron’s little pedes.

“Megatron…let me…bare your valve for me. Please,” he ground out, constricted. The heat he was radiating had forced Megatron to run his fans loud enough for even Orion’s audials to pick up the high-pitched whir. His entreaty was met with a small but incredulous expression, and Orion heaved a gusty sigh in annoyance. “I just want to see…”

 _“I doubt it,”_ Megatron commed back dismissively, and Orion half-vocalized oaths again.

“I’ll let you come on my faceplates!”

 _“Already promised as much.”_ The Pit-spawn was smiling up at him. Orion squeezed his thigh plating harder and his engine howled angrily.

“I only promised oral! …Fine, I’ll let you spike me at full size.” At that, Megatron’s optics flashed in a way Orion didn’t think much of. It wasn’t the first time he had let Megatron at his valve, though it wasn’t a very common occurrence, and he figured that was all it was.

 _“Deal,”_ Megatron commed, smiling like a Sharkticon. He shifted his weight as his modesty plating, resolutely closed thus far, folded away and the lowermost portion covering his valve snapped open. Orion half-suppressed another moan, and gathered the tiny frame carefully in two servos.

Megatron may had been playing it cool, but his valve was dripping enough that Orion could see it even with the size difference, and he sneered down at his adversary. Tiny engines simply revved in response, and Megatron hiked a pede on Orion’s thumb joint as a delicate miniature servo spread the minuscule valve lips lewdly for Orion to see.

Halting his panting intake despite how it made him tremble, Orion positioned mini-Megatron on top of his spike, impossibly small valve rubbing against the head. Even with the blue servos still supporting him, gray legs thinner than Orion’s digits bravely clamped the shaft, and the ex-warlord ground down, all the while staring up at the giant blue optics hovering above. Orion couldn’t suppress his following full-frame shudder and gusty ex-vent. Without hesitation, Megatron plunged one of his digits into the opening of the transfluid channel at the very tip of the massive member he was seated on, and Orion’s servos spasmed, struts locking all over his frame. He let out half of a wordless shout, electricity jumping in visible arcs from his optics and major joints, and came powerfully all over his hands, thighs, and tiny little Megatron.

He stared down through one of his optics spritzing momentarily, taking in the hot torrents of clear, viscous fluid, shimmering faintly silver with masses of nanites. Transfluid surged up in bouts against the black-and-gray miniature aft, the dark valve with its barely visible pinpricks of red biolights, and all up against the planes of gray plating, without missing the hilariously scrunched up little face. He barked a laughter as Megatron eventually onlined one of his optics, wiping them markedly, and spat out a glob of transfluid. He looked so…’done’, as the humans lately would have said. Orion stroked the last of his release out of his twitching connector, letting it ooze down the warm little frame now more or less reclining in his other servo.

He hesitated a moment, but eventually brought the tiny warlord up once more, licking across his sullied plating. His crotch was noticeably warm, a burning point even through the oral- and transfluids, though Orion could only catch the briefest of the smooth sensation of a valve against his prodding glossa. Absent-mindedly, Orion noted that the decorative swirl carvings on Megatron's chest plates could be faintly felt, even like this. After a few flicks of Orion’s glossa, Megatron pushed the invading appendage aside.

_“Alright, you’ve had your fun. My turn now.”_

Orion suppressed an unhappy sound, and pulled back.

This time, Megatron took his sweet time to work his mass displacement modification, and Orion watched his limbs stretch out from his servo, noting how the weight increased gradually. It was a peculiar feeling, and he was a little sorry Megatron had not deigned to go slow the other way, as well.

He placed the ever growing Megatron on the berth next to him and turned towards him, lifting one pede on the slab under himself to face his counterpart.

Mini-Megatron gathered his pedes under himself as well, seating himself on his knees. He was wearing that unpleasant smile of his again, and the way he seemed to very much be looking forward to what would happen next made Orion slightly uneasy. It didn’t take long for him to reach the size of an average minicon, and overcome it. Orion watched expressionlessly, feeling the ex-tyrant’s EM field expand as his frame did.

He was very much crowding Orion’s space soon enough, but the ex-prime refused to move back. Megatron, on the other hand, even leaned in, determined to aggravate as usual. Sitting on his knees, his eye level ended up higher than Orion’s when he reached his usual dimensions. Orion frowned lightly, but his eyebrow ridges melted into a bewildered arch and then a more severe scowl as Megatron…didn’t stop.

“What the-“ he mumbled before being interrupted by Megatron’s input, properly vocal again, and the deep rasp shook his chassis, with how close they were.

“Oh, didn’t you know, Prime? And you saw my previous format, did you not?” Megatron’s voice was unbearably smug, bordering on sweet, and he smiled wolfishly down at Orion. “I tend to keep a little extra tucked away, as you might say. For convenience’s sake. And for when I might need a little extra punch.” Yes, the black and purple stealth bomber frame of Megatron’s had been larger than the one previous, and than this current one as well, but this was somewhat beyond that. The disgust was clear on Orion’s face plates, and Megatron’s grin stretched to allow a view of his Decepticon-sharp canines.

Orion, though he had stiffened, locked optics with Megatron and squared his shoulders stubbornly, ignoring the oppressive EM field mixing with his own. He could feel Megatron’s lust, and he knew the ex-warlord could feel his, reluctant as it may have been. The difference in size wasn’t all that much, Megatron was currently perhaps the size of Ultra Magnus…no, bigger, but not quite Overlord? In any case, it wouldn’t be impossible to take his spike, though likely uncomfortable, as it was kind of tight under normal circumstances already, and Orion wasn’t much of a valve mech…

Megatron seemed to have reached the end of his patience, and placed a large, warm servo on top of Orion’s, braced on his thigh. Without breaking optic contact, Megatron bent in to make their helms meet in a parody of lovers’ intimacy. “Any wishes regarding position?” he purred, squeezing Orion’s servo and thigh. Orion’s plating rattled slightly, and he was once again reminded of how much he hated himself, as his valve clenched under the closed plating. Good thing no-one else knew him like this.

With a wordless grunt, Orion pulled his servo free and slid off the berth, sitting on his knees on the floor. “Spread your pedes,” he growled, glowering up at Megatron, who obligingly did as he was told, and lowered heavy pedes both sides of Orion, sidling up to the side of the berth. He had shut his valve cover again, and though the transfluid had been enough to thoroughly bathe the tiny Megatron, there was now no more than traces spread across the great chassis. Orion braced a servo on the unpainted thigh, and when Megatron’s interface paneling stayed put, eventually peered up and cocked an exasperated eyebrow ridge.

“Just enjoying the view,” Megatron answered, insufferable as only he could be, and finally allowed his modesty plating to retract again to reveal his spike housing. Megatron’s connector pressurized with no delay, and Orion eyed it like a personal insult. Why would any mech need a spike this ridiculously huge? To satisfy cityformers? Or was it simply just one more extension of Megatron’s ego?

Orion scoffed dismissively and grabbed the still swelling spike that twitched eagerly at his touch. To his dismay, the difference from the usual was just enough that he couldn’t completely close his digits around the black segments. Scowling, and not looking up at Megatron, he raised himself slightly on his knees to be able to catch the tip in his intake, straining to open his mandibles as wide as possible. The taste of it was not completely unlike the whole of little Megatron, he noted absently, and started working his glossa around the heavy shaft. Above, Megatron released a pleased ex-vent.

To his chagrin, the already massive connector pulsed and expanded one last critical fraction in his grip, and Orion realized he couldn’t fit it properly into his intake like this, not without dislocating his jaw. With a subvocal grumble, he settled for licking up and down the shaft, nibbling at times. Knowing Megatron was certainly not above utilizing any and all openings to taunt him, he did his best to wring pleasure out of him with his mouth pieces. The nigh-imperceptible vibration of charge building within the conductive metal could be felt with his glossa like this, and passing the smooth surface of biolights made the current spark into his intake with a quiet snap. He was satisfied to note that Megatron soon started twitching his hips slightly to chase after his intake as it moved, and the rumbling purr of his engines would rev up every now and then in response to his ministrations. A heavy servo cupped his helm and tweaked his finials gently, drawing another annoyed growl from Orion.

“You called me adorable, but I must say, you don’t lose on that front.” The warmth in his voice was purely self-satisfaction, Orion knew. He twitched his helm against the black servo, a token attempt to shake him off, and bent down into his task with renewed vigor. He constricted the twitching spike in a two-handed grip and sucked violently on the head, glossa working against the small opening.

Megatron finally came with a drawn-out, pleased grunt, and Orion gamely swallowed down the transfluid welling up, though it threatened to overflow. Orion wiped his lip plates afterwards, and got on his pedes a mite shakily. It almost felt like he’d downed a whole cube of energon, but it was something less pleasant churning in his tanks.

“Well then, ready for round two?” asked Megatron smoothly, also standing up to tower head and pauldrons over Orion. Cheap, smug slagger. His spike had already rebounded in a feat of stamina that Orion was woefully familiar with. Perhaps it was the single most pointless outlier ability in recorded history, though that was just his theory.

“Let’s get it over with,” Orion bit out, and shrugged. He wasn’t too bad at feigning nonchalance, but the way the charge in his frame was fluctuating, he wasn’t fooling anyone who could feel EM fields.

“Eager, aren’t we. You want to see yourself impaled on this spike, don’t you…” Megatron pressed closer, and eventually pushed Orion against the hab suite’s wall.

“You flatter yourself,” he replied with controlled nonchalance, staring solidly up into the red optics. Grin unfaltering, Megatron pawed at his still-closed interface hatch, where Orion's connector was again tucked away, though not far from activation. Two warm digits dragged against his valve cover, charge tingling between the chassi, and Orion blasted out heated air.

“Open up for me,” Megatron had bent down and rumbled straight into his audial, making Orion twitch against him. He retracted his valve plating fearlessly, and one of those digits pressed against the rubbery valve structures, lubricant already oozing through. Megatron’s engines ran smoothly, more smoothly than they had any right to, and his clever mouth was suckling Orion’s finial and down the side of his neck cabling as one of his digits pressed inside.

It was thicker now than usual, but not so much as to be uncomfortable, and it curled up against the anterior wall of Orion’s valve with steady strength Megatron should not have possessed, with his diet of Fool’s Energon. The ex-prime couldn’t suppress a wordless sound and a stiffening of his struts. Megatron knew exactly what he liked, and every time he was given the chance, he would wield that information cruelly. Just as he always had. At least he was blessedly wordless for now, letting the pleased hum of his machinery and the surging of his EM field do the talking. A second digit soon joined the first one, and scissored open mercilessly.

Orion’s grumpy gasp elicited words from Megatron again, because nothing good could ever last. “Doing alright? Want to call it off?” Someone might have thought the pleasantly warm, _casual_ voice was not judging, that Megatron was truly attending to his partner’s needs. But Orion, Optimus, he knew better, he knew Megatron better than anyone. And it was a taunt. He’d never let his opponent live it down if he were to back out now. Orion knew.

“Do your worst,” he simply uttered, accompanied by a blessedly steady rev-rev-thrum of his main engine. And so Megatron did.

The servo partially lodged inside him pulled out and slid to cup his aft instead, and the other servo, having been kneading his hip lightly, snaked up and supported his back as Orion was hoisted off his pedes. His frown drew closer again, and he ex-vented in consternation, even as he obligingly clamped his legs either side of the gray chassis. Megatron turned to his desk, _cradling_ Orion, though he let the truckformer down as he sat on the edge of his table. Orion noted, with a measure of exasperation, that Megatron had prepared beforehand by clearing out everything on the desk save a single stylus, stabbed into a stationary holder, because _of course he had_.

“Sit in my lap, back to my front,” he said lightly, though no-one would have mistaken it for anything but a command. Orion cycled his vents and did as he was told, spreading his pedes either side of Megatron’s knee guards, earning a very pleased rumble from his engines and a waver of his field. “Excellent,” he praised warmly, making Orion’s plating crawl.

“Enough of that,” Orion uttered, and craned his neck to the side to be able to guide his servo to cover Megatron’s intake awkwardly, but it was well enough for the gesture. He felt the lip plates curve into a smile, and retracted his servo, overlapping it with the large black one that was pressing against his lower chest plates, pulling him flush against Megatron. At least the ex-warlord was radiating heat like a furnace against Orion’s back plates, and the ex-prime wiggled slightly as Megatron’s remaining servo reached between Orion’s legs to stroke the rigid black connector. It jutted up from between Orion’s spread and straining thighs now, and he couldn’t help but stare, feeling Megatron place his jaw on his shoulder, next to his finial, looking down also.

The ex-Decepticon remained quiet, aggravatingly polite, but his engines fluctuated in a happy, suggestive roll. He squished his straining spike against Orion’s oozing valve opening, stroking up languidly. His other servo was fiddling with Orion’s windshield up above. “Slagger,” Orion growled without real heat, and tensed his pelvis to slide against the offending connector, reaching a servo over his shoulder to hold onto a seam on Megatron’s shoulder.

Two large digits were shoved into his opening again, bending rubbery platelets aside to allow lubricants to roll down the waiting shaft. Orion was doing his best to move himself up and down, but Megatron controlled his pace and range, and eventually used both servos to position his partner’s hips to his liking, opening lined up and ghosting the wide head. Orion was impatient, and Megatron had already finished massaging the lubricant from Orion’s valve and his own connector all down the eager shaft, but the slaghead was holding off again. Orion had had enough: he grabbed the black servos and wrenched at the thick digits to make their hold falter. Then, he plunged himself down on his own, pre-empting Megatron’s intent. He ex-vented gustily with a soft swear, feeling the stiff connector split him open.

After such cursory preparation, the stretch was near-painful, but it was Megatron’s dark servos that stilled Orion’s hips as he was wrenching himself down.

Orion growled darkly, and rolled his head back against Megatron’s shoulder. “Quit stalling, you slagger. I’m not here for _love-making_.”

Some charge sparked between them as if on cue, dancing from Megatron’s spike to disappear under the locked spike cover above Orion’s valve, and he twitched involuntarily. “I can’t have you unable to walk out of here on your own, Prime. _People would talk_.” Megatron didn’t whisper, but his volume was so low it was almost the same. Orion could hear the fanged smile.

“Frag you. I’ve walked off…so much worse, and you know it.” Merciful or cruel, it was hard to say, but Megatron finally moved his servos, lifting Orion’s hips with them. The smoothly curving ridges on the dorsal side of his connector’s segments slid slowly out of Orion’s valve, which was now clamping down aggressively, bending the clenched platelets outward when slipping out one by one. With each nub of the spike, a dollop of lubricant slipped out of the tight valve. Orion groaned again, and wished he had something to bite.

“Mm, yes. Sure.” Megatron sounded like he was only agreeing to placate him, like he was a moody newspark. Growling, Orion grabbed the servos clamped on him, forcing them to lax enough for him to twist his hips out of the grip. It really had no business being so difficult, when Megatron was on the power-sapping energon diet. Ignoring Megatron’s displeased grunt, Orion twisted his pelvis again and impaled himself on the spike once more.

“Quit. Stalling.” Orion’s words were accompanied by plates puffing up and smoothing down again, as his motor growled in frustration.

Megatron huffed air from his intake straight into Orion’s finial, and even dared to kiss it lightly, but when his servos settled on his hips again, he actually helped Orion nudge his way down. Orion groaned and consciously flared the calipers inside his valve to their maximum aperture. As he had predicted, it was uncomfortable, but little by little, he managed to house the whole connector. The stretch burned and his calipers fluttered, left with no give to constrict. He could feel the elastic walls of his valve stretching…not quite enough to be in danger of tearing. It was as if the Pit-spawned ex-con had measured his exact dimensions, and adjusted accordingly. Orion onlined his optics and narrowed them in suspicion, but there was no way for him to direct them at his opponent in accusation.

“Just like you to make even interfacing a challenge. You could just enjoy it,” Megatron rumbled straight into his audial, and Orion was pleased to hear the slight tremble in the lower frequencies. He was petting a servo lightly across Orion’s abdominal plating, as the other gently rubbed and squeezed his hip joint.

Orion simply ex-vented tiredly and rolled his head on Megatron’s shoulder again. “Yes, yes, whatever. And you would _never_ take it as a challenge. Such a poignant conversation this is.” A sudden pressure of thick digits pressing into his plating made his tank lurch, and he choked shortly.

“Look down…beautiful, isn’t it?” Megatron purred against him, ignoring their previous exchange, and dragged his dentae against Orion’s helm. Suppressing a shiver, Orion did however look down, to take in the black servo framing a barely discernible bulging of his abdominal plating. Well, that explained why he felt the impulse to purge…the oversized spike inside him was taking up space usually belonging to important internals. Orion’s cooling fans sped up weakly, and he groaned. And still, his valve was hot and pulsing…trying to pulse, lubricants trickling from the tautly stretched opening at a steady pace. He could feel charge gathering along the nodes embedded in his valve walls and beyond, lancing through his chassis, buzzing in his limbs. He would have been glad that he was unable to see Megatron’s expression, but sadly he could imagine the self-satisfied smile all too well.

“How does it feel?” Megatron spoke smoothly into his audial again, and the vibrations of his vocalizations passed from his chest straight into Orion’s chassis, making his spinal struts curve back in a twitch.

“Narration…wasn’t part of the deal,” Orion groaned, venting shallow. No space left to gather air inside. Megatron’s chuckle and small movement to sit further back on the desk jostled Orion and he let out a choked sound again. Megatron sounded and moved as if unperturbed, but his field was pulsing hungrily enough, and a blue spark of electricity crackled between his servo and Orion’s torso.

“Enough…frag me already…Megatron.”

Orion could feel the lip plates on the side of his helm curve into a smile as he pressed another of those mockingly light kisses on his finial. “As you wish, Prime,” the warlord growled and licked Orion broadly, finally nipping at the blue plating. And then he snaked his servos lower on Orion’s thighs, curling strong digits to hold them in a solid grip. Orion grunted as Megatron hiked his legs upwards, the position forcing him to bend forward, making his internals squish against the oppressive invasion uncomfortably. And then he moved, finally.

Orion drew in a deep vent when Megatron pulled out, valve clenching as soon as it gained the give to do so, as if to protest the spike retreating. The plunge back in made an obscene squelch, and Orion made a sound between a grunt and a shout. Megatron growled, clearly pleased, and his fans blasted scalding-hot air.

Orion did his best to move with Megatron, but the relentless assault of the nearly-too-big connector caused his hip joints to give up and go lax the third time he was filled very near to bursting. Megatron was panting soon, as well, and his engines released an almost painful whine. Orion could feel Megatron’s systems straining, even as his charge built, but his servos remained steady, moving Orion up and down.

“Change positions,” he managed to utter, and Megatron reacted with a chuff like an Earth steam train. He seemed to agree readily enough, and Orion was unceremoniously twisted onto his belly, aft held aloft, scrambling to brace himself on the smooth desktop. The lone stylus was sent clattering to the floor. Megatron’s arms were constricting his middle, and with his hip joints still unresponsive, all he could do was brace himself against Megatron’s landslide-like thrusts with all the cabling of his upper body. Still, he skidded across the desk, feeling like some kind of a doll being used however Megatron pleased. He swallowed a moan at the thought.

When Megatron overloaded, a faint burning smell erupted with the crackle of static, and the band of his arms around Orion tightened. The huge shaft buried inside him twitched against his inner walls, and released a torrent of hot fluid. This time, Megatron came from his core, it seemed, and he pressed down on top of the ex-Prime, still pumping into him, crushing him closer. The need to purge his tanks was back, and he swallowed hard and locked his intake pipe to keep his fuel (and Megatron’s previous load, crossed his processor innocently) inside. A warning popped up in his processor, saying his valve cavity was being strained to its maximum capacity, and Orion almost panicked for a fraction of a second.

Megatron might have registered the lurch in Orion’s EM field, but whatever the reason might have been, he pushed himself up from Orion’s flattened frame, and the root segment of his spike released a burst of hot transfluid to ooze along Orion's legs as it pulled out. That preposterous connector of his was still pumping out its release even as Megatron extracted it from the overtaxed valve, Orion realized, and the deepest rings of his calipers, now freed, clamped down violently. Sticky liquid practically gushed out of Orion, warm as it rolled down his legs. A deep groan that could have been pain just as well as pleasure, rattled out of him and his joints ground tight all across his chassis in the throes of an overload of his own.

The black length splattered the last of its load on Orion’s aft as it popped free, and Orion was taken by surprise and winded by the weight of the extra-large version of Megatron crashing on top of his prone frame as if his limbs had suddenly failed him. Then again, with the fizzle and smell of burnt out circuitry and the apparent magnitude of his overload, perhaps that was just it.

The room fell silent, save for vigorously working fans and in-vents, the slight creak of joints easing out of awkward positions, and after a while, the somehow labored click of an interface panel locking up again. When Megatron still didn’t move, Orion rebooted his vocalizer quite loudly. “Did you burn out your circuits? Seems like you overestimated your limits…”

A soft but deep ex-vent swooshed from Megatron’s various cooling vents, and his weight finally lifted. Orion turned to see him lean on his servos, on the desk both sides of Orion’s frame. “Must be the sludge you’re poisoning me with,” he commented, and groaned as he sat up on the desk again. Orion raised his chassis as well, but noticed that his hip struts still refused to respond. Grumbling, he canted himself to his side, and then on his back. He met Megatron’s optics with a harsh frown, trying to glare his mouth shut. He didn’t even twitch when an ample trickle of still-warm transfluid rolled out of his valve and down to join the remarkable mess across Megatron’s desk.

The Slagmaker was wearing one of his politely unaffected expressions as he stared down right into the hard blue optics, something that Orion had seen surprisingly often during their long acquaintance, all things considered. “Good?” he asked with a tone only barely on the side of casual instead of obnoxiously gloating.

Orion groaned dismissively in answer. After a short moment of silence and steadily diminishing whir of slowly calming cooling fans, he muttered: “You’re ridiculous.”

Unnervingly, Megatron seemed to know exactly what Orion meant with such a comment. “For the record, I never asked for any interface equipment modifications. You know Shockwave built this frame, and many of my previous ones, yes? You can blame him. He seemed to feel the need to provide me with a connector right on the higher end of compatible with the frame size…”

Orion stared back up in silence, offense slowly creeping on his face plates. Then he slammed a servo over his optics and groaned again.

“…What?” Megatron asked curiously. He sounded amused, already. Frag him. In all too short a time, the cunning piece of scrap made the connections a decent mech would not, and a sensible one would find too farfetched, besides. “…Oh, indeed. You used to…be very close to the senator, _didn’t_ you. Did he have a particular taste for-“

“ _Silence_.” He simply did not have any inclination to delve into the topic of the exact nature of his past connection with senator Shockwave, or whatever he might or might not know of his… _preferences_ , at this time. Or any time.

It didn’t stop Megatron from daring to emit a weak, jostling chuckle, and Orion dragged his servo down his faceplate and snapped his mask shut after, then allowing himself flop on the desk like an Earth starfish, with a long, exasperated sigh. And Megatron just kept going, though soundlessly and in short bouts, even if his engines rattled in a somewhat worrying way.

He really should stop meeting Megatron like this, he told himself: not for the first time and certainly not the last.

**Author's Note:**

> Megatron is probably more genuine than OP realizes.
> 
> I’m unused to posting my porny writings for people to see, and I do have a couple hang ups about it - namely being amazingly, illogically embarrassed about my kinks - so I’d appreciate you being gentle with your feedback as I get used to this, dear readers.


End file.
